


Under the Covers

by Strummer_Pinks



Category: Ray Donovan (TV)
Genre: How is it that they're no Ray/Cochran fanfics! This injustice must be rectified immediately!, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strummer_Pinks/pseuds/Strummer_Pinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray Donovan and Ed Cochran.  You're telling me there's NO fanfics about these two?  How is this not a thing?  Very well, behold...</p><p>Ray Donovan and Ed Cochran think back on all the times their paths crossed.  Cochran schemes.  Karaoke is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Covers

Ray 

The first time I saw Ed Cochran was on TV, doing his Mr. FBI schtick, the new face of the department, Mr. Anticorruption, all glad handing and smug lies spoonfed to the lazy media crowd. Typical political stuff, only, don’t get me wrong about this—there was something just a little weird about his delivery. 

I stay alive on this job thanks to my instincts about people, and I don’t know how or why exactly, but from the first moment I saw him on TV I thought—there is something a off about this guy. Something in the eyes, you know? A little too big, a little too bright, like he was coked up or had a fistful of those caffeine pills or something. Just something…

The whole swingers, wife-swapping thing with that other couple in the FBI office—other people might’ve been surprised, but nah—I could see it, that guy? Doing that? Guy like that, thinks he doesn’t have to answer to nobody, thinks he’s always running rings around everyone else he’s so smart. Arrogant. Over-confident, that was his mistake. Thought I was just another dumb bruiser he could outsmart easy, Mr. FBI-College-Degree—so anyway, that was the first time.

 

Cochran

Ray Donovan. I admit, the first time I met him, I underestimated that fucker. I mean what can I tell you? He just looked like a big slab of beef, chubby cheeks and all, “Ezra Goldman’s bagboy,” that’s what they said about him, some dumb goon from Southey, never read a book in his life and I thought… ah screw what I thought. 

Look, he bested me. He bested me and I thought back then he took everything; My wife, my job, my professional reputation, house, backyard, shed, Christ, even my fucking ride-on lawnmower, even my fucking BMW, everything I’d worked for for 19 fucking years, gone up in smoke. And he just walked away, didn’t gloat, not him, just walked away like I was nothing—some turd he scraped off the bottom of his shoe. 

That—that was humbling. I admit it, I was humbled. 

So what then? Then he forgot about me, at least for a little while, but don’t worry I didn’t forget about him. I mean how could you forget the asshole who ruined your life? I kept my dossier on him, kept collecting information, squirreling it away. You don’t get to the top of the FBI food chain without learning a thing or two about patience and fuck me, I was patient. And possibly, okay, I’ll admit it, maybe a little obsessed, but hey, this is the man who ruined my life here, obsession makes sense.

I found a job, some shitty little security firm, investigating investments for the NFL, other dumb shit I could do in my sleep. It was a paycheck at least. And then, as if by magic, he fell into my lap. Some would call it fortuitous. Fuck those people. 90% of fortune is being well prepared. When the big break comes, you want to be in the right place with the right tools to receive Goddess Fortune’s bounty, and oh God, after such a drought was I ready to receive. That first time, my mistake, I’d been overconfident. He’d had the jump on me, knew everything about me, put that surveillance camera up before I even had a chance to case him properly. But this time, oh yes, this time the ball was in my court. 

So what went wrong? How’d I end up with a leg full of lead in a hospital in fucking Glendale of all places? What can I tell you? I don’t rightly know. Even after all this time, and trust me I had plenty of time to think it over, running everything round and round again in my head, I still don’t really know for sure, when was the exact moment I should’ve zigged instead of zagged?


End file.
